And when I pray that thou wouldst change my soul, Rich fruits, in ripe luxuriance, there are found; Content in every state, I shall not dread The hour when it must mingle with the dead; Will pass away in joyful songs of praise! T. M. B LINES Suggested by FULLER'S account of the venerable BEDE and his Secretary translating the last verses of St. John's Gospel. Look on that boy, and saintly pale old man! Upon the holy text their eyes are bent; He seems to swoon, films overspread his eyes "Rouse thee, my master, rouse thee," the boy cries, He might not go till his great task was done. E. L. A. ON VIEWING THE RUINS OF AN ABBEY. SEE how on yonder ruin high The silent moonbeams fall, The ivy round its arms has thrown, And lends the pile a grace unknown To days of former pride. And see, beneath the moonbeams bright, With frame of carved shade. Ah! thought has borne me back again, Once more, in accents clear and loud, I see the incense-bearing cloud And yet, believe not I would seek Those splendours to restore; Here superstition dwelt of old, And luxury, and pride, Vont with a dazzling veil of gold, Religion's form to hide. Here in his cell the monk alone, The captive bird at first repines, Soon she forgets the forest tree, But what forbids our worship now? His ear the pray'r of faith will hear, For wealth may not His love secure, Nor shrines of costly art, Who seeks alike from rich and poor, A humble contrite heart. N. N. AN EXHORTATION. "Let Israel rejoice in Him that made him; let the Children of Zion be joyful in their King."---Psalm cxlix. 2. YE new-born souls rejoice, In Jesu's name be glad ; The people of Jehovah's choice Should surely not be sad. Why do your spirits faint? Why do your heads hang down? Why of the cross indulge complaint, Forgetful of the crown? Why on the willows hang Your silent harps unstrung? Why should the notes that David sang, Remain by you unsung? The gospel brings good news Think of your high estate, Look out of time, and contemplate Your glorious destiny. Things present all are yours, Yours richly to enjoy ; And while eternal life endures, Pleasures without alloy. A covenant God's your guard, From ev'ry ill in time; And your exceeding great reward, In yon celestial clime. But do you hesitate This privilege to claim? And fear 'tis not your happy state, Who thus destroys your peace; And with malignant, hellish guile, Reject his hateful lies, His base suggestions spurn; With pure abhorrence turn. With holy boldness wield The gospel armour well; Upon your watch-tower stand, Your Captain's grace implore; There's fulness in his heart and hand, Ask, and He'll give you more. In his resistless might, The fight of faith maintain; You'll quickly put the foe to flight, And more than vict'ry gain. Look up,-your fears dismiss, The battle is not yours, but His, And His the glory too. TO ** J. S. HARVEY. WEARY pilgrim! child of sorrow, Thy path is rough, and lonely too, Thy sunshine days are short and few, And here are none who love thee. Here a stranger! hoping, fearing, WRITTEN ON THE LEAF OF A BIBLE. ACCEPT this holy book, of books the best, T.M.B. Thy hope in time, thy bliss when time shall end. IGDALIA. EPITAPH In Battle Church, on John Wythines, Dean of Battle, Sussex, 42 years. Vixi dum volui, volui dum Christe volebas, (Translations in verse are requested.) |